


The Ice is Getting Thinner

by Kleio_de_Patrie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/M, M/M, i got tired of typing tags but its basically the whole gang of usual suspects, i really don't have time to write this fic, welcome to my gratuitous hockey au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:10:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleio_de_Patrie/pseuds/Kleio_de_Patrie
Summary: Grantaire is the captain of an NHL team at the end of their regular season.  Before they know if they are going to the playoffs, a former teammate files a lawsuit against the administration with the help of some justice-loving lawyer friends (who could they be?). The case causes the whole team to question the team's leadership and Grantaire to question if his dream career is really worth giving up everything (or everyone) for.





	The Ice is Getting Thinner

Grantaire isn’t sure why he is being called personally into Coach’s office today. His best guess is that it's because of the brawl Bahorel started last game. Javert hates fighting, says it cheapens the game, and for some reason he thinks Grantaire can control the fury that is Bahorel. Like the team captain having a heart-to-heart with Bahorel about his anger issues would make him realize he didn’t have to throw his gloves off every game. Okay, maybe Grantaire hadn’t needed to throw a few punches himself during the brawl, but he wasn’t about to let Bahorel get double teamed like that, even if he could have taken them both without Grantaire's help.

As he approaches Coach’s office, he contemplates the fight which the refs ended almost right away, sending both him and Bahorel to the penalty box, and allowed their opponents to score in the power play. Of course, Grantaire responded in kind as soon as his skates touched ice again, scoring twice more before the end of the second period, a lead they kept until the end. Really it was no skin off anyone’s back. Maybe a little skin off Grantaire’s knuckles, as he popped a right hook into the other player’s jaw, but the crowd loves that sort of thing. Not that Javert will see it that way. Grantaire prepares himself for some sort of lecture he will have to repeat to Bahorel later. Probably over drinks and video games.

He opens the shaded office door, already in defensive mode, but is immediately thrown off. He expected Javert's rigid form behind the desk, however, he isn’t alone in the gray-walled office. Contemplating the dark wood trophy case along one side with dark, beady eyes is the team’s manager, Jondrette. If this was a simple case of excessive fighting no way would Jondrette be here, Grantaire thinks.

The balding manager, barely 5’5’’, turns as Grantaire enters and flashes him a sly smile that immediately makes the player wary. Jondrette has given him the creeps ever since Grantaire signed his team contract five years ago. He notes Coach’s frown from behind the coach's desk. Javert dislikes Jondrette as well, although for different reasons. From what rumors Grantaire has gathered, Javert has accused Jondrette several times of not respecting the sport at all, and only being in it for the money. Grantaire doesn’t doubt for a second that Jondrette only cares about the money, one of the few things he agrees on completely with the head coach.

“Grantaire, my boy, thank you for joining us. Please sit.” Jondrette motions to the chair opposite Coach’s desk. Grantaire looks at Coach who nods.

“Uh, okay.” Grantaire sits. Jondrette ignores his obvious confusion and continues smirking as he moves to lean against the desk like he owns the place. Javert’s face looks similar to last game when Grantaire glanced over at the bench from the penalty box.

“I must congratulate you on your performance recently. You never seem to let pressure get to you. I thought for sure you would turn those two goals into a hat trick by the end of the night.” Grantaire glances at Coach and sees him rolling his eyes slightly. Yeah, he still totally remembers the scuffle that proceeded Grantaire’s two goals.

“Thanks?” Grantaire says cautiously. It sounds like a question. Maybe he isn’t in trouble. “I guess my luck ran out after those two shots though.”

“Nonsense! What I saw was pure talent. What was luck was our scouts spotting you playing for that small-time French league all those years ago. You’ve been a huge part of revitalizing this team and filling the seats with fans again.” Sometimes Grantaire wonders if Jondrette sees him as a human person or just the dollar amount of his calculated net worth.

“Thanks.” he says again lamely. He doesn’t really feel like going through the small-talk routine with their skeezy manager this early in the morning though. “Are we here to discuss my performance last game then?” Grantaire looks to Coach to cut to the chase. Javert clears his throat.

“Ahem. Although there are some aspects of your…performance I would like to discuss another time, no. Jondrette I will let you explain.”

“Ah yes, right to the dirty business.” Jondrette starts. Grantaire knows he isn’t going to like anything that follows Jondrette saying ‘dirty business.’ “We called you in here today because the team has been approached by a lawsuit. We wanted to give you a heads up so you can help inform the rest of the players before this hits the media. This is not the first suit the franchise has faced, but it is a bit…” He pauses, as if looking for the best way to manipulate the situation, “...sensitive in its nature. It concerns one of your former teammates, Courfeyrac.” If the word “lawsuit” didn’t have Grantaire’s attention before, “Courfeyrac” certainly grabs it now.

“What about Courfeyrac?” He narrows his eyes and looks from Javert to Jondrette.

“M. Courfeyrac is under the impression, or at least trying to give the impression, that the franchise is somehow responsible for the everyday injuries he sustained in his time with us. These claims are obviously groundless as we cannot control what happens on the ice.” Jondrette chortles dismissively, a sound that makes the hairs on Grantaire’s arms stand up. “Hockey is inherently a violent sport, I think we can all agree.” Javert nods along and looks at Grantaire.

“A formal announcement will be made after practice, but we think it's best if you talk to the team as well. As captain you must show that you support the franchise and provide an example to the other players. It goes without saying that none of you are to speak to the media, M. Courfeyrac, or his legal team.” Coach says with his usual directness and authority. Just as Javert mentions speaking to Courfeyrac, Grantaire guiltily remembers the six missed calls from his former teammate over the past three days. He’d assumed Courfeyrac wanted to talk about his last game, just as he had when Grantaire last saw him in the hospital, but Grantaire wasn’t ready to face that yet. Courfeyrac calling to tell Grantaire he was suing his team made much more sense. It seemed the man’s (rightful) anger at Grantaire had finally caught up to him.

“Grantaire.” Coach’s sharp voice brings him out of the swirling guilt and back to the conversation. “Can we trust that you will keep the players out of this case?” Grantaire hesitates a moment, running a hand through his dark curls nervously, before nodding. He can’t exactly say no. This is his team, he is captain, and these are direct orders from the head coach, the manager, and, by extension, the whole administration. It seems old friendships must take a back seat in these circumstances.

“Excellent!” Jondrette rubs his hands together. “Trust us that this whole affair will be taken care of efficiently and will have no effect at your upcoming playoffs run.” He addresses both Grantaire and Javert. “The only thing you need to bother yourselves with is playing a great game!” He chuckles to himself again. Coach’s frown deepens, as if reminded of the needed improvement for the team to actually make the playoffs.

“I will see you at practice.” he says, dismissing Grantaire. Grantaire gets up and shuts the door behind him. He walks in a daze to the locker rooms. The place is mostly empty; he’s still extraordinarily early for practice. He walks in and the only ones here yet are Jehan, another rookie, and Bahorel, each drinking their caffeinated beverages of choice while groggily putting on various pads.

Jehan and the other rookie are early simply because they are rookies. The shining excitement of playing for an NHL team hasn’t yet been overshadowed by desire for an extra half hour of sleep before practice. Bahorel is probably here because Grantaire texted him about his meeting with Coach and similarly assumed it was about the fighting. Grantaire appreciates the show of solidarity from his behemoth friend, but right now isn’t exactly in the mood for conversation.

“So how did the meeting go?” Bahorel innocently questions as soon as he spots Grantaire. Grantaire wearily shakes his head.

“I will talk to you about it later.” he says. Bahorel immediately gets defensive.

“You know that he didn’t need to check Jehan like--” but Grantaire cuts him off as Jehan snaps his head up to protest fighting on his behalf.

“It wasn’t about that. Not that we shouldn’t be cutting down on fighting, the team’s overall PIM is higher than the average...” Grantaire knows this is a little hypocritical to point out, his personal PIM is the second highest, just behind Bahorel.

“Well what was it about then?” Jehan asks, sitting in front of his locker and tying back his long, blond flow of hair. Next to him is a mug of tea in an obnoxious paisley mug. For a rookie, Prouvaire’s a pretty confident kid.

“Ah…” Grantaire knows this isn’t the right time with just the three of them in the locker room. “It’s going to have to wait until after practice. Everyone needs to hear this.” Jehan’s eyebrows go up and curiosity flashes across Bahorel’s face. Grantaire doesn’t usually have anything serious enough to keep from teammates.

“Shit are there talks of trading? Cuts again?” Bahorel asks with dismay.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Grantaire quickly refutes, holding up his hands to defend himself. “And I would appreciate you not spreading rumors before the end of practice. We need to focus if we want to earn a spot in the playoffs.” Sensing Grantaire going into Official Captain Mode, they all back off, though Grantaire can still sense their uneasiness. Or maybe that is just his own uneasiness. As their other teammates trickle in and they make their way to the ice to start practice, Grantaire can’t shake the distraction.  It’s been over a year since Courfeyrac left the team. The media drama surrounding the incident had only just begun to fade.

As they complete drill after drill—Coach really is merciless today—Grantaire cannot get his head in the game, repeatedly bungling plays and just looking very uncaptain-like in general. Probably because he was never meant to be captain, Grantaire thinks wearily as Jehan’s pass goes just beyond his stick for the fifth time today. Coach blows the whistle, shakes his head, and yells at them all to line up for penalties. Jehan shoots Grantaire a questioning look which he interprets as “You okay?” rather than “What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Jehan’s a good kid, and an excellent winger. He deserves to be playing with a center like Courfeyrac as he was meant to be right now. And just like that, Grantaire is off again and fires a weak shot that Feuilly easily blocks from the net. So much for focus. Javert keeps them at it for much longer than usual, probably what he sees as just punishment for Grantaire and Bahorel’s behavior last game.

“Alright, gather round, everyone.” Coach yells after finally showing mercy and whistling them to a halt. Grantaire grimaces, knowing what is coming with the end of practice. “Now you are all familiar with the… dramatic departure of your former teammate, M. Courfeyrac, last season.” Everyone but Grantaire nods, confused. “Well, the administration would like to inform you that once again he has brought up some extraneous issues...” Grantaire ignores the questioning looks Bahorel keeps shooting at him as Javert repeats what Grantaire heard earlier this morning. Instead he chooses to focus on the way the scar that ran vertically down the right half of Javert’s face pulls when he talks, only making him seem more intimidating. Like he wasn’t terrifying enough already. “…not permitted to speak to the press, Courfeyrac, or his lawyers. Grantaire do you have anything to add?” It takes Grantaire a moment to realize that Coach has finished talking and Bahorel isn’t the only one looking to him now.

“Uh,” Grantaire clears his throat, not really sure where Coach left off, “Yeah, just remember that this is our team and we need to have each other’s backs first. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to come to me. ” He nods. That seemed appropriate. Coach doesn’t look super impressed, but he doesn’t look more pissed off than usual either so he couldn’t have messed that up too bad.

“Well, that’s all I have.” Coach states, and the team starts leaning towards the locker room. “But I think you all need to show a little more hustle during practice-” Grantaire feels this comment aimed at him, “-so I want you to all do four sets of suicides before you go clean up. I will see you all again tomorrow morning.” With that he turns casually towards his office, leaving behind a wake of misery and sweaty hockey players.

**Author's Note:**

> So in the midst of my team killing it in the Stanley Cup Playoffs this year and my eternal love for this fandom, I noticed a disappointing shortage of hockey fics and impulsively decided to try and fix that. This is my first fic so please be patient with me. I will update as frequently as possible, but I'm also doing research/writing for my senior thesis, interning, and trying to get into a grad school rn so I apologize for however long this takes. ICOE reach me at kleio-de-patrie.tumblr.com . On that note, enjoy stupid boys and dumb sports.


End file.
